The 'C' Word

Cancer. It's the dirtiest 'C' word I know; a biological terrorist targeting random victims and taking the lives of innocent people. This time, it has hit too close to home and a new battle has begun.

My mom has breast cancer. There. I said it. No sugar coating, just the stark terrifying truth. I found out about five weeks ago over a late night video chat, completely alone in the dark abandoned Google office. There's no good way to tell someone you have cancer, but if I had to guess, virtual meetings would not be any one's first choice. 

Mom insisted that this wasn't going to change us and that I should stay in India to finish my project. I agreed, but have struggled with this decision every day since, feeling guilty for not being with my family but not wanting to transfer that guilt to my mother by actually going home. It's like my own personal civil war waging in the trenches of my psyche. There is no right answer for a situation like this and the only thing I had to go on was my gut feeling. 

Being so far away has made it seem so fake, as if tomorrow I'll wake up to an email that says 'April Fools'. In some fortunate way it has made things a little easier. I was sleeping soundly when she made the decision to have a mastectomy and I was playing rock band with the other expats with my phone on standby while my sister was nervously waiting at the hospital. Of course, it has also made everything so much more difficult, ironically, for the exact same reasons. I don't think I will ever look back on these days without wishing I had been there, nor will I regret my decision to stay.

She had surgery last week. The same video chat that brought the news to me also brought us together in her hospital room just before she went in. She had cut her hair short so it won't be as traumatic when it falls out from the chemo. That's when it hit me that this is really happening. 

Mom joked that the haircut was intentionally ugly so she wouldn't feel bad about losing it. I laughed like you're supposed to laugh at cancer jokes. It's not that they're not genuinely funny, because we've definitely shared some good ones at the expense of the 'C' word, but that they have to be funny when you consider the alternative.

The thoughts that have crossed my mind since hearing the news have ranged from mundane and pragmatic to completely absurd. One minute I'll be strategizing how to best use my vacation days and sick leave to maximize time at home once I'm stateside, and then next thing I know I'm feeling weepy over the fact that I never had a chance to bid her right breast and full head of hair a proper farewell. It seems unfair that the last time I saw her I had no idea that she would look completely different the next time I'd see her. I feel like I would like to have seen and touched it - the breast, that is - one last time. . The women in my family have always been comfortable with our bodies and I grew up with that breast. It even belonged to me for a brief period of my life. Okay, it's a weird thought, I know, but it's true and I feel entitled to have a few given the empirical nature of my current situation.

My mom and I were talking the other day and agreed that, in light of some of the other tragedies and setbacks we've dealt with in the past couple of years, this seems almost laughable. If God himself had delivered the news, we might have responded with, 'Really? Is that all you got?' It's not that it's going to be an easy time for anyone, but relatively speaking it can't be any worse emotionally than some of the other crap we've faced. From that standpoint and generally speaking, we're all really optimistic. 

Recently, I recalled the time before I left for Miss Michigan when, despite my insistence that I had everything under control, my mom and sister flew out to Dearborn last minute to help me get ready. It wasn't until after we were up all night gluing crystals on my dress that I realized how I never could have done it without them. Mom said she could hear it in my voice. I thought it was a mom thing, an instinct only she could have, but I understand now that it was really a family thing. The three of us share a bond so close that we can sense when one is in trouble, and I'm sensing that it's time for me to return the favor. 

I'm heading back in a couple weeks after I tie up some loose ends with my project. Fingers crossed, I'll make it home in time to go with her to her first chemo session. In the meantime, we have our video chats. 

The following is copied from an email I sent to our Google Talk team:

Dear Google Talk Team,

My name is Gina and I'm an AdWords Strategist based in the Ann Arbor office. I have been on an assignment in Hyderabad since the end of January. I signed up for video chat just before leaving so that my sister and I could stay connected. Ironically, we live 3000 miles apart in the US but the thought only crossed our minds when I was leaving the country. A few weeks ago, my mom asked to join my sister so that she could see me face to face when she delivered the sobering news that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. 

At her insistence, I made the difficult decision to stay in Hyderabad for the duration of my assignment. Two days ago I received an email from my mother telling me that there was a cancellation and that she would be having surgery in less than 48 hours. We planned to video chat last night, but the connection wasn't great and after 45 minutes we finally threw in the towel. I resigned to the fact that I wouldn't get to see her face before surgery, and settled for a phone call instead.

A little over an hour ago my sister pinged me at work and asked me to sign on to video chat. I was surprised and overjoyed to see my mother on the other end, laying in her hospital bed about to go in to surgery. We only had a few minutes, but it was such a gift to see her and feel connected to my family at such a crucial moment. I even had a chance to talk to her nurse, who was nearly in tears watching it all unfold. I could sense my mom bubbling with pride over her daughter who works at Google and is video chatting with her from India.

It was the power of Google technology (and a little help from a Sprint Broadband card) that gave my family this precious time together, and I can't begin to explain how much that means to me. The product has made my absence during an incredibly difficult time much easier on my entire family, and I want to personally thank you for working so hard on it. I hope that this email serves as a reminder of just how important your job is. You are helping real people connect with one another, and it is truly impacting the world, mine in particular.

Thank you so very much.

Gina

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